


you and your loud vulnerabilities

by kingtumbleweed



Series: The Way You Fight It [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Clothed Sex, M/M, Nook Eating, Oral Sex, Xeno
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-18
Updated: 2013-01-18
Packaged: 2017-11-26 00:08:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/644415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kingtumbleweed/pseuds/kingtumbleweed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Equius is getting rather tired of Karkat's prickly refusal to be touched.  Matespritship is mutual.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you and your loud vulnerabilities

**Author's Note:**

> Fandom secret: I write a lot of Equius/Karkat. For your sake, I chopped the long, boring internal monologue off of this fic to bring you some PWP.

"Stay the day," you ask, when Karkat snaps his husktop closed and captchalogues it.

"I thought you were just going to work all day again, you crazy bastard. You don't need me around yawning."

"It's not a problem if you just want to sleep, but I was.  Hoping you'd ride my face," you say, a little to quickly and with as little shame as you can muster. Your face flames. "And then go to sleep with me."

Karkat's eyebrows quirk. He's used to initiating, used to you happily letting him; now he's on unfamiliar footing. (You know he's never had a proper matesprit, nothing closer than his drawn-out, broken romance with Terezi Pyrope.) He opens his mouth, closes it. Karkat Vantas has been _rendered silent_.

"I'm," he hesitates, crosses his arms over has chest. "Going to go home." He doesn't move.

You set aside the casing panel you've been soldering, thinking through your words carefully. You sit up and, all seriousness, ask, "Why?"

Karkat stops meeting your gaze and shuffles in place.  No answer.  He gets fidgety and agitated and finally he scowls, "Alright enough with the baby barkbeast eyes! You grubfucking bastard." Walking over to you, he sits down in your lap, right in the circle of your crossed legs, and continues scowling right up until he takes your jaw in both hands and kisses you firmly.

You frown, putting your hands on his wrists, and push him back gently. "What is the problem?"

He fixes his gaze obstinately on the panel you set aside, jaw set stubbornly. You shift your hands to his hips. He chews his tongue. You watch him, exercising your patience. You have, at least, learned that Karkat can't handle a loaded silence without popping.

It doesn't take more than another few seconds. A growl swells in his throat until, "I'm not _used_ to being wanted!" he bursts, angry, defensive, accusatory. "Nobody _wants_ Shouty McNubs and his freaky fucking hemo _failure_. Maybe they want to get off or get papped or maybe it's just a creepy mutant kink! But nobody--" His face scrunches up briefly like he's forcing back tears. He probably is. You politely look elsewhere. "And now YOU and your stupid-- _you_. Asshole."

You smile at that, and kiss his hair. The way he's hunched, the top of his head is just level with your nose. He huffs, scowling all the harder.

You point out, "I find it exceedingly offensive that you would suggest I would submit to debasement by just anybody, exclusively for want of debasement. I am not desperate." _Anymore_ , you add in your head. You mean it. The implication that you don't want him (or, you're lying about it) gets under your skin. You were once desperate. That got you into the ugly mess that was _Equius Zahhak and Aradia Megido's Grand Quadrant-Flipping Cross-Caste Crash-and-Burn_ , as Nepeta later titled it, erasing both you and Aradia from her wall entirely in her frustration. You have not been desperate since. Lonely? Yes. But not desperate.

"You snooty douche," Karkat sneers reflexively up at you, and you take the opportunity to properly kiss him now that he's facing you. "You," he says, " _enormous_ ," in between kisses, "bulgemunch." You pay him no mind, lacing your hands at his lower back to pull him snug up against you, and he pushes your mouth open to lick your chipped fangs. You forget what's going on for a few minutes. When you come back, Karkat is high on his knees straddling your hips, your hands are all over his ass, and he has your face tipped back in both hands. He is sucking your tongue, and you're pretty sure nothing you've ever experienced is as good as that.

You can feel his bulge through his jeans, unsheathed and pressed up against your stomach, and he rubs against your hands while you undo his fly, tugging them and his boxer briefs down over his hips enough to free his bulge. He gives the smallest sigh and ruts into your palm, the tip of his bulge wrapping around your knuckles. You press your other palm against his hip, stilling him. "Slow down."

Karkat butts his forehead against yours, growling.  You tug on his pants some more until he stands up and sheds them, leaving his sweater on defiantly. You let him. It's a good look, hipbones just visible under the hem, and his bulge curled against his stomach between them. There is a sticky red drip of fluid from his nook on the inside of one thigh and you desperately want to lick it off. (You wonder when you became the kind of troll who thinks that kind of thing.)

Karkat looks down at you, standing right where he was just kneeling, all prickling defiance despite his fully flushed genitals, level with your face. Ridiculous. Appealing. You know you're blushing, damp with perspiration, when you say, "I still want to lick your nook."

Karkat looks away from you, jaw set, eyes--distracted? worried?--but he nods definitively and lets you pull him within reach. You do lick that red smear from his thigh then, and suck a mark to replace it (Karkat hisses, tense) before moving on to the lips of his nook, savoring the early taste of him (everything about Karkat tastes slightly sweet, as if "candy-red" maybe isn't a completely childish descriptor) and the way he shifts from foot to foot in uncertain anticipation. When you part its folds and drag your tongue the length of his opening, he actually gasps, a soft, long intake of breath, and his cheeks flush pink. He is not watching you. You lave at the underside of his bulge where it emerges from his body and his fingers grasp the edges of his sweater, pulling and fidgeting.

You can't keep up at this angle for long, but that's fine; you only needed long enough to secure his interest in continuing. You think you've accomplished that. You drag him down so you can lay on your back, pulling him into position by the hips. From here, you've got the leverage and angle to get your tongue in deep, and the first time you do, Karkat's whole body quirks and he clamps down on the noise that he makes.

"You don't have to--look, I--" Karkat is still protesting.

You very pointedly roll your eyes. He glares.

"You antagonistic fuck--you-- _ah!_ "

You cut his grousing with a long lick. His hips roll with you, against his will. Another drag gets you more noise, and another has him pressing down for more. You didn't know Karkat made noise like this, all staccato gasps and growl and bits of words. He actually yelps when you thrust your tongue directly into him, and speaks loud nonsense when you continue lapping deep in his nook, curling your tongue to tip at the knot of nerves running a ridge inside. It's amazing. You're pretty sure he's getting angrier--he's certainly getting louder--with every sound you tease from his throat despite that he's grinding on your face like he can't get enough, his sounds mushing into one long growl made up of groans and frustrated half-curses.

The third time you bat his hand away from his bulge, he shouts, "Fuck you, Zahhak, I can't take this! Let me get off, let me--just _fuck me_ , damn you." You obligingly undo your pants, freeing your aching bulge as an offer, and he practically leaps at it, straddling your hips on quaking thighs. He pushes one sleeve up to stroke your bulge once, lining up the tip just inside his nook, and he's halfway through calling you names again when you thrust up into him hard enough that his eyes actually unfocus. From there it's all yelps and whines, more noise than you've ever heard him make when he isn't berating someone, and he is only briefly lucid enough in his writhing to push your shirt up so he can admire and claw at your abdomen. The wet slapping of skin doesn't bother him, his claws dug into your sides so hard that you're bleeding by the time you finally take hold of his bulge and his thighs snap tight on either side of your waist and he comes, hard, all over your chest. He clenches around your bulge, tight bordering on painful, and that almost drags you over into orgasm, too. Your bulge is throbbing inside him still when he keels over on top of you, panting.

It only takes seconds for him to remember. "Did you...? Oh, should I..," He is completely dazed. A disturbing bubble of affection swells in your chest.

"I will finish myself," you decide aloud, swallowing your nerves hard. You slide Karkat's rubbery body off of your chest (your bulge throbs, writhing at the loss of friction), holding him at your side with one arm while you take your bulge in your other hand.

It is different and terrifying, touching yourself when he isn't also touching you, when instead he is watching blearily from your shoulder. You are so aware of and embarrassed about everything: your shallow panting, the sweat pooling in the hollow of your neck, the dark indigo flush in your bulge and your face and chest. He strokes your stomach with one languid hand when you come, twitching, all over yourself too (you have resigned yourself to the sick little thrill in the back of your brain when you are covered in slurry), bringing his sticky purple fingertips back to his mouth, and your stomach does a confused little flip flop at that. After that, Karkat has gone full dead weight, and you're pretty sure if you don't get yourselves clean and into your recuperacoon immediately, he will go to sleep right there and leave you with double bucketfuls of slurry drying on your chest all day.

That potential horror doesn't make it any easier to get up and dislodge Karkat from where he's molded neatly into your side, made pliable post-coitus. You don't have to wonder how long it'll take for him to snap back--he's right back to grouching after a quick bath--but he grudgingly climbs into your recuperacoon with you and tangles his limbs with yours, brusquely tucking his chin up under yours. You rearrange the two of you more gracefully, but he has already fallen asleep again by the time you wiggle into a more comfortable position.


End file.
